


Cold

by Nitrosion_Why



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: And Im here to drag you all down with me, Gore, I swear, Im here to cry, Im here to regret, It Gets Better, It will get worse, M/M, Should I write this?, Should there be smut?, This took me 3 tries, Will I do it anyway?, absolutely - Freeform, but still, idk - Freeform, its gonna be lit - Freeform, lit, lots of fluff, no, not that bad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-18 09:20:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14850054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nitrosion_Why/pseuds/Nitrosion_Why
Summary: A story from a random writing prompt due to writing-prompt-s on Tumblr."He wouldn't be cold that night."





	1. Chapter 1

He wouldn't be cold that night. His arm was wrapped around Lefou, laying at rest on the small man's side. His head on Gaston's chest, letting out a content sound as he slept. It made the man being used as a pillow smile. 

The crackling of the fire was what made him start thinking. The hypnotic crackle that wasn't constant but always there. A crackle that belonged to a slow dying fire. The flames licking at the bark of the logs that attempted to cover them, it was a hungry fire. A fire that wouldn't die until every last piece of food was gone. A greedy fire that would soon starve and then smoke.

The two had started it only an hour ago, Gaston throwing on a lot of logs when Lefou began yawning. The small man was tired out from a busy day. A busy day of walking the trails in the woods, climbing trees, rolling down hills, laying in fields of flowers, anything they felt like doing when the sun was up and they were alone. The day was busy, but enjoyable. Gaston's mouth had hurt from smiling so much. 

But, that wasn't what Gaston was thinking about. He wasn't think of happy things, he was thinking of stress and regret. Thinking of thoughts that made his back tense without him realizing it. Thoughts that made him stare at the ceiling, getting lost, distracted. He was so, that he stopped hearing the fire crackle. The feeling of Lefou numbing from his finger tips. The sound of his breath seemed to slip the air like the warmth of a room when a door leading to the winter world outside it was opened. Gaston even seemed to forget about his own breathing. 

What he was thinking of, was the fall. 

It was a fall that did more than break him. It tore open his flesh, ripped muscles, snapped bones like tooth picks. A fall that he shouldn't have survived. A fall that he didn't _want_ to survive. A fall that he regretted. He regretted every second that lead to it. Every moment that he made the mistake of taking steps to it. Most of all, he regretted the tears he made Lefou shed. 

Gaston could remember that. A clear memory that made his heart ache. He remembered his eyes being closed, darkness enclosing him as deaths grasp held tight. Shock was too much to feel the pain surrounding him. The pain of his sore throat, his broken ribs, his shattered ankles, the gashes running down his arms and torso, the holes that the bones made when they forced themselves out of his flesh. His head was spinning, putting him in a daze. He didn't know what was real, he didn't know if he was dead or alive. The poor man didn't even know what happened. 

Lefou did. Lefou knew what happened. 

Lefou had ran up the stairs after the fighting. He had slid into the room, hair a mess as he heaved heavy breath. The small man was told that Gaston fell. He was told where and when, not how far or how loudly he hit the ground below. _If_   he hit the ground, the brush and trees could have broken his fall. At least Lefou hoped as he stumbled down the stairs, tripping when he hit the entrance room.

The man was barely on the ground for a second, pushing himself back up before he realized he fell. Lefou raced to the garden, the place below Gaston's fall. Below that bridge.

He called out softly, a soft and strained voice that didn't ring out. It was a call that didn't have to leave his throat. The tall man being feet in front of him. Lefou's heart leaving before he could even feel it drop. 

The small man trembled, stepping forward. His steps scrapping against the grass, pulling it up by the roots and exposing dirt. He couldn't breath as he dropped to his knees next to the mangled mess. His hand shaking wildly as he reached it out, touching the man's face. His cold face. A face that was resting it's chin in death's palm. 

Tears hit like numbness touches a foot that is merely asleep. They were painful and aggravating. Unneeded and unwanted. The two things underserved for the unsuspecting. Lefou took in a shaky breath, tears pooling just as quickly as the wish of death that Lefou wanted upon himself.

Gaston didn't deserve those tears, he didn't deserve the tremble, or the heartache that Lefou was struck with. Although, he deserved the sadness it all brought on himself. He deserved to be alive and unbroken enough to here the weakness and tremble of those sobs. He deserved the regret and the pain that that fall had dug deep into his brain. And Gaston knew that. He would sit up all those nights when he was supposed to be recovering, he would sit up regretting and crying. He would whimper and shake, he would move and twist just to cause his wounds to pulse in the pain he deserved.

Lefou knew this. He allowed it. 

He was there for the first two days of Gaston's recovery. The small man didn't talk, he sat away from the man and watched him struggle. Gaston didn't know. He couldn't open his eyes for those days. They were too swollen. He's lucky they work as good as they do. Although, Lefou wouldn't laugh at him. It was a sort of revenge. It made him feel better. But when he heard the man's eyes were open and that he was soon to be out, soon to be a threat once again, Lefou stopped going. 

Gaston wasn't out for nearly twenty minutes when he showed up at his door. Lefou being surprised at the sound of knocking, not expecting any visitors. When he opened the door, his jaw nearly dropped. The tall man stood in the door, leaning on crutches with casts on half his limbs, stints along with them and a still swollen right eye. Gaston shouldn't have made it to his own house, let alone to have walked all the way to Lefou's on the busy streets. 

The small man resisted the urge to usher him inside and make him comfortable, Gaston nodded at this. He deserved it. He took a deep breath, making Lefou expect a sigh when he was actually trying to remember his apology he had been practicing since he was hospitalized. It was a long one, one that he didn't fully remember, if at all. His words were stumbled and slurred together, heartfelt and said with regret.

Lefou stared, the poor man was apologizing for things he had done when he was younger. That's where he decided to start! He began with accidently pushing Lefou out of a tree, going onto thanking him about taking a bullet in the war and saying he only acted in anger because he was worried for Lefou's life, he apologized for everything he did when they got back to Villeneuve, even for ignoring him and his safety when they were in the mob mentality fight.

Gaston was breathing heavy when he stopped, hoping he had apologized and thanked Lefou for everything. He was truly grateful of such a friend, which he said aloud. He watched Lefou's eyes change from confusion to tears as he hugged the broken man that was covered in bandages. The tall man hugged him back, of course, ignoring the pain that the hug brought as tears came to his own eyes. 

Lefou ushered him inside after that, not letting him leave again until he was healed as much as he could be. They both knew the man would always have a limp in one leg and that his left arm would never fully recover. Gaston would never be able to lift Lefou with only that arm now. Although, he could with his right.

The man made himself laugh. The sound of ashes popping from the starved fire flooding back into his ears as the darkness receded from the corners of his eyes. He blinked a few times, taking a deep breath and tightening his grip on the shivering Lefou. The small man kept shaking, his eyes closing tightly in a grimace. This made Gaston turn fully on his left side, wrapping his arms around the small man and placing his lips to his forehead. A warm forehead and body that shivered nonetheless. 


	2. Chapter 2

The two men laid, one unconscious and the other staring at the wooden ceiling above their bed. The sleeping man shifted, his cold fit over with. His cold fit that did not last long but, still worried the taller man. The worry pulling him from his chances of falling into slumber. Which was something that happened often. Something that had no routine or way of knowing when it would strike. Just a small quirk in Gaston's personality. A quirk that could cost him a bit of memory loss but, a trait that made his nights with Lefou so much longer and comfortable. 

His sleepless nights were full of him trying to remember their past as the small man shifted and curled into him at random times. Each shift making him forget what memory he was thinking of and forcing him to switch to a new. He did not mind though. Getting dragged out of a memory that may have turned sad or one that was just boring him, was nice. It helped him get through more of them in less time than if he was on his own. 

Although, with every memory, he would focus on a spot of the ceiling. His eyes blackening on the sides as if he was going to sleep with them open. The sound of Lefou's soft breath and the slow crackle of the fire would escape his ears. His body would embrace the heat as his mind came up with a topic. This topic was one of his favourites. A topic that made him smile. One that he never did without Lefou, no matter how much Lefou would complain about the cold or the rough and uneven ground. A topic that he would laugh, smile, and sometimes get saddened by. 

Hunting. His love of it would bring up so many stories let alone the sound of the spoken word. Stories of good kills or long days that were so rewarding. Days where he got absolutely nothing, no tracks, no scat, no clue of any living things other then himself. The days, after the empty and unforgiving ones, that brought bears and hogs and deer, anything that could make the blood pump quicker than it had prier. The smiles he had on those days were so full of excitement that he could embody the word. 

Even the smiles he had on the days of nothing were as joyful as ever. The days where it was Lefou and him. Days of the two sitting in a grass field with the late afternoon sun shining down on them, a slight breeze that would rustle the soft green blades. Lefou looking elegant as always in that burning light which only seemed to make him glow with gold. His smile being brighter than the star of the day. A brightness that would not release Gaston's eyes. Release that was so unwanted that even when that smile faded, the man's eyes would stay focused on his Lefou's face. 

That smile was memorable. That day and time was. The field, the grass, the breeze, the sun burn that Gaston got that day, the sweat that had poured down and soaked his back. It was all stuck in his head like the lyrics of a catchy song. Stuck but, not hated. It was a memory that Gaston did not want to forget. He did not want to forget anything that Lefou was a part of. 

A shift dragged Gaston from those smiles and sun shine that turned to his fear of memory loss. His Lefou had curled up closer to him, their hands now laying together on Lefou's side. It was adorable to see. Heart wrenchingly so when Lefou let out a happy sounding sigh as he got comfortable again. It brought a tired smile to Gaston's face, a yawn trailing after it. A yawn that did not make him anymore tired, it seemed to have even wakened him. Wakening him enough to open his eyes again, letting them make their way back to the rafters of the ceiling. A pop of the burned out embers sending him to the tavern. 

The tavern. A place of beer, whiskey, liquor, wine. An area full of women looking for a one night stand and men hoping for one of them to look at him and think, "He's good enough". The place where Lefou and Gaston would sit, sipping their grog and telling stories. Their drunken laughs and voices full of an alcoholic scent that they could smell until the next day.  A bitter and sickening smell that Gaston believes to be as sweet as melted chocolate because of his Lefou. 

A tavern full of his hunting memories and memories with the small man as they sat together in his chair. Lefou on the arm of it as they clinked their glasses together and drank gulps of it. Gaston seeming to finish two or three mugs before Lefou could down one. Lefou probably remembered those nights of mumbled voices and tired smiles better than Gaston could, or, at least, more of the night. 

Gaston laughed, his chest rising sharply with the action. His eyes clearing as he realized the fire was completely silent and the darkness had faded into sunlight. The room was bright with his second favourite glow, that glow only the sun could produce. It hit the floor and the end of the bed, exposing the rich red of the comforter and the chestnut browns of the wooden room. The colours bringing a smile to his face before he could feel the small man shift, waking from a long nights rest. 

A yawn came from Lefou when he woke, happy humming coming from his lips as he stretched beside the taller man. His stretch leading to a kiss on Gaston's jawline, a welcomed sensation after a night of numbness for the man. His favourite part of the morning, a part that he would miss if he ever upset the small man bad enough. It was routine, he would feel empty without it. 

"Good morning," Was Gaston's response. It always was. But, this time, his voice sounded awake. It was not gruff or groggy like it should have been. 

Lefou smiled still, leaning up on his side with a hand lightly pressed to Gaston's chest. His face seemed to be playfully disappointed as he made a short, yet happy, sound that could be explained as 'hmph', "How long have you been up?"

The small man could always see through Gaston. Even when the taller man tried to cover his tracks, unlike he did this morning. His failed attempt to hide this, and the fact Lefou noticed, made him smile to the man above him, "Not long"

"I've known you long enough to tell when you didn't sleep." The small man giggled, booping Gaston on the nose. 

His reward for that was Gaston taking his hand and leaning up for a kiss. An action that came with a mumbled few words when Lefou laid back down on Gaston, a thing that could only lead to more early morning kisses, "I can't get away with anything, can I?" 


End file.
